


Monster Hunting in the Age of Flappers

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, Gen, Historical, Paranormal Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: These will be some scenes from a historical urban fantasy I'm working on but wanted to share with friends and this seems the easiest way.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Concetta hurried down the hallway to Captain Leffingwell’s office. She was late but she could hardly be blamed. She had been out celebrating the night before and was supposed to be off today. Someone had smuggled in a little vin Mariani that hadn’t been denatured. Ah the Harrison act, enacted a decade prior to ruin everyone’s fun and worse, followed up by prohibition. At least her grandmother’s bathtub gin was drinkable. 

Her head pounding and her legs a bit jittery, Concetta slid into the captain’s office. Leffingwell’s secretary, Gladys, glanced up at Concetta from her crossword puzzle. It must have been a slow morning, but then again Gladys took those puzzles deadly serious.

“Did you fall under a train, dear?” Gladys smiled, tugging her reading glasses off, letting them dangle on a beaded chain.

“It certainly feels like it,” Concetta conceded. “I wasn’t expecting to call in today.”

“I think you’ll like the reason though.” Gladys leaned on her desk, flashing a conspiratorial grin at Concetta. 

“Oh?”

“You’ll see.” She pushed a button on her intercom. “Captain Leffingwell, Agent Mazza is here to see you.”

“Send her in,” came the captain’s tinny response.

Concetta adjusted her cloche hat over her finger-waved bob. It took a lot of effort to make it look good, smooth, or as smooth as her curly hair was willing to be. Today it was less of a finger wave and more of a mess because her hangover precluded her expending much effort. Concetta hoped the hat would help hide the fact she hadn’t really done her best with turning herself out this morning. She hoped this meeting wasn’t about the guy she kicked the night before, some old fellow who was decrying her and several other bobbed girls for being harlots as if length of hair had anything to do with it. No, Glady said you’d like this. No one likes being disciplined, at least outside the bedroom.

When she opened the door, Captain Leffingwell was behind her desk and a young man stood at the window behind her, looking out at the Allegheny River. She couldn’t see much of his face, the sun being too bright for her hangover induced light sensitive eyes. He was shorter than average and slight with walnut brown hair that he wore longer than was fashionable and he didn’t seem to have much Brilliantine in it. His hat sat on the edge of the captain’s desk. He didn’t look back to see who had come in, or at least not openly. She caught the flick of his gaze over his shoulder.

“Captain Leffingwell.”

Leffingwell smiled faintly. “I’m sorry to rouse you so early Agent Mazza. Have a seat, Concetta.” She gestured to the leather chair in front of her desk.

Concetta settled herself down, happy to get off her Mary Janes. She’d thrown on a cotton house dress before stumbling out the door but when the stranger turned, she wished she had taken the time to either put on the Vers-Tiu uniform or at least something a bit more fashionable even though it was the wrong time of day for that. She was grateful her black stockings weren’t laddered. The newcomer wasn’t gorgeous, more on the average side, but his blue eyes commanded attention.

Concetta tore her gaze away from them to study the rest of him. He had a somewhat large mouth and an impeccably tied blue tie which complimented his grey suit. If anything, his dress was as fuddy duddy as Milton ever was. Concetta wondered where her other two partners were. Having been reassigned to Pittsburgh from Boston nine months before had been a bit traumatic but she felt she had fit in well enough. She’d been raised in Pittsburgh after all. Milton might be a bit of a pompous stick in the mud but he was good at what they did. Lillian was a blast and was more than partially responsible for how much Concetta’s head ached at the moment.

She contemplated the newcomer, wondering was he on the team or was he looking to hire them? He didn’t look like a monster hunter but you couldn’t always tell. Even though everyone knew women fought on the teams, every time someone saw her or Lillian in action, no one knew what to do about it, as if anything actually needed doing. Why couldn’t they just be happy there were those with the abilities be it physical or magical or both to get the job done? If they wanted her to have a sword, Concetta had one. She just carried hers in a scabbard.

“Concetta, this is Agent Bentley James.” Leffingwell swept a hand toward him. “He’s a special consultant. Bentley, this is Agent Concetta Mazza. Her specialty is fire magic and impaling.” Leffingwell chuckled. 

Concetta rolled her eyes. Just because she liked to hide her vampire killing equipment under the guise of knitting needles so she could have it handy on trips, she had gotten a certain reputation. Of course, that was just one of many reputations she had, earned or otherwise. She stood, shaking Bentley’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Agent James, or may I call you Bentley. I’m fine with you calling me Concetta unless we’re on the job. Have to keep a certain level of respect if you know what I mean.” 

One thing Concetta knew for certain that unless she threw her title around no one took her seriously. Even some of the men within the organization weren’t keen on women. She’d love to see someone who could take out a vampire with a wooden knitting needle like she could. She was no slouch at taking down a demon or two while she was at it. She didn’t just have fire magic. She could triple her strength and speed which she used as much as she could out in the field as long as she could keep it up.

Bentley smiled and inclined his head. When he moved, Concetta spotted something on his neck that the collar and tie almost completely hid, something red and raised. He flicked his fingers at her, a hopeful expression on his face which fell when she shot him a baffled look. He lifted his hat and picked up the tablet that was under it. He wrote, ‘hello,’ taking her by complete surprise.

She hadn’t known they had any deaf agents. Wouldn’t that put him at a disadvantage if he couldn’t hear the monsters coming? Leffingwell did say Bentley was a special consultant so he must not be a field agent.

I can hear, he wrote as if reading her mind. Of course, in this agency, some of the agents literally could. My voice box is damaged. Speaking is difficult. I use sign language when I can.

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry. I don’t know any,” she said when what she really wanted was to be a nosy parker and ask what had happened. Some Agents liked to bandy about how they earned their scars. Others never wanted to speak of them ever. She respected that but darned if it wasn’t hard not to ask. She was too curious for her own good, even if it was none of her business. “What are you a special consultant of?”

I’m psychic to a point, a medium as well, and certain monsters act in certain ways. Doctors Freud and Jung had much to say about that. I have found it applicable to our job.

Concetta schooled the frown off her face. Psychics had a tendency to go crazy or so she had heard. She’d never worked with one. “That’s interesting. I’ve read some of their articles.”

Bentley widened his eyes and he sat in the chair next to hers, leaning forward, electrified. “Really?” His voice rasped out like someone after a night of too many cigarettes and whiskey. Concetta might indulge in the latter but she didn’t like how cigarettes made her chest tighten up. In their job, they needed to be able to breathe freely.

She nodded. “Lillian’s friend, Alma is one of our librarians here, our go-to girl when it comes to the research. She reads everything. She hands over anything she thinks might be of interest to me.”

“Which is most everything from what I can tell,” Leffingwell put in.

Concetta grinned. “I am eclectic.”

“That’s a word for it. Anyhow, I was hoping that as the newest member on your team, you’d be willing to help the very latest edition fit in.” She gestured to Bentley.

“I would love to. You’ll have to forgive me, Bentley. I was meant to be off today. I’m not dressed up to snuff.”

You look fine.

“Thank you.” She turned to Leffingwell and asked, “Do we have a new case yet?”

“Not yet. I thought you could show Bentley around, introduced him to the rest of the team,” Leffingwell said. “He’s met Major Tosto already.”

Concetta smiled at the mention of her mentor. She owed so much to the older woman. “My pleasure. Follow me, Bentley.”

He picked up his hat, settling it on his head and took his tablet. Concetta tried to think of what to do first. “What would you like to see first? The library? The apartments? The gym?” She raised her eyebrows. “The rec center.”

“Library,” he said in his rough whisper.

She smiled broadly. “I think Alma will love meeting you. She might even know sign language. She knows several languages.”

His eyes gleam as blue as the Mediterranean sea. “I would like to meet her.”

“All right then, first Alma and then the rest of the team.” Concetta wanted to see how he did with the team. This was going to be a very interesting day.


	2. The Burden of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bentley is very afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** this is mine.  
>  **Notes:** Written for templefugate for comment_fic for the prompt Any, any, fear of change and for 12_daysofficmas.
> 
> This 'chapter' has anxiety in it.

Bentley locked the door to his new apartment and leaned against it, surveying his new domain. The bright burst of color in the living room did little to ease his mind. A fine tremor started up his arms and crawled up from his feet. What had he done? Was this a mistake? Change was hard but this one seemed harder than usual. He’d bitten off too much.

Forcing himself away from the door, Bentley stumbled to one of the few things he’d brought from his last home, a prized Art Deco sofa. He loved the clean lines of the decorated wood back and sides. The deep red patterned cushions were as comfortable as clouds as he settled onto the couch. With shaking hands, Bentley slipped off his suit jacket and undid his tie. 

His breathing ramped up at the thought of this undertaking, rasping his throat like a file. Would he ever get past the pain? The doctors told him there was no reason for the pain. He’d healed more than a decade ago. Was that all in his head like the thing spurring on his shakes? Why did he come here? Why change anything? He’d been in a good place. It wasn’t worth this fear.

_You know why_ , he reminded himself. He rubbed the side of his neck, feeling warm skin instead of the usual leather gorget he wore. Most of the Vers-Tiu members wore them to keep their throats from being bitten or slashed on the job but he wasn’t out hunting monsters today or any day really. _You’re support team!_

Only he wasn’t any more. Bentley had to step into the role of fighter and that’s where the fear lived. Oh, he was a hell of a shot but he had no offensive magic. Not every Vers-Tiu member had that. He could do a lot with his weapons but he couldn’t shout out a warning, call for help, not with his ruined voice. He slipped a hand into his pocket, reassuring himself he had a whistle there. He could use that for his teammates.

Disgusted with his creeping fear, Bentley forced himself up. He wished he were back in Ireland. He could use a good shot of whiskey. Concetta shared his enjoyment of a good tot, he could tell. He might have only known her for a few hours but Bentley saw a certain wild abandon in his new teammate. 

Thinking on the new team, he slogged into the bathroom, shedding his clothes. Bentley rubbed his neck, tracing the ridge of scar tissue slashing a ragged path over his throat. He still had nightmares about it, this final gift of his father. He hurried into the shower, trying not to see his reflection. He never liked looking at himself if his neck was exposed.

The hot water helped calm him. Washing the Brilliantine out of his hair, he mulled over the day. Concetta would be something to see in action, which he would soon no doubt. He wished he had half her confidence. Lillian’s smile warmed him and Alma, their research partner, was a kindred soul. She and he would get along like a house on fire. He hadn’t met Milton yet but from the ladies’ description, Milton would take getting used to.

As he toweled off and pulled on his pajamas, Bentley felt the fear finally ebb. He crawled into bed. Smudge, his enormous gray and black cat, had already made himself at home on the mattress. Once Bentley was settled, Smudge snuggled up purring, calming Bentley further. He had no choice but to make this change. His visions were rarely wrong. Hard to interpret but not often wrong. He was meant to make this change, to come to Pittsburgh at this time. If he ignored the prediction, well, he knew all too well how bad it could go.

It might be frightening to go into the field with a brand-new team. Ignoring his vision scared him more. That realization did little to ease his mind and sleep was a long time coming.


	3. New Endings, New Beginnings

Bentley knew this wasn’t going to be the typical night out on the job. For one no one wore their uniforms because they would have stuck out like a hammered thumb on the dance floor. Two of their victims had frequented the Zephyr but just as importantly, Alma often performed here with her uncle who played jazz saxophone. He got the impression neither Concetta nor Lillian were strangers to this speakeasy. 

His two partners couldn’t be more different. Lillian’s dress was pink chiffon with pearls and she wore her silk stockings all the way up under her hem. Only a single strand of pearls encircled her neck. her blonde hair brushed past her shoulders and her makeup was a bare minimum. No one would probably guess she had a pistol in her purse. Concetta’s bodice was sheer to the waist over an eyepopping red slip under it. Several strands of pearls dangled from her neck. The short layered black skirt was covered with geometric diamond patterned jet beads and she had rolled her stockings down, holding them up with knee garters, catching the eye of several young men. She had kohled her eyes like Clara Bow. She had a knife in her own purse and her magic of course.

He had no idea where Milton had already moved off to in the Zephyr, probably somewhere being a starched collar. He hadn’t wanted the assignment to begin with. Apparently a speakeasy for New Year’s wasn’t Milton’s idea of a good time. Bentley didn’t mind. The illegal alcohol flowing was good though none of them could partake of much of it. Fighting whatever demon that had been draining people and leaving their corpses dotting the Pittsburgh streets drunk would be foolish. 

Bentley felt luckier than the ladies. He could wear his leather gorget under his evening wear and had. If whatever this was biting out throats was in this club, it would have trouble getting through the hardened leather. Naturally, it made him sweat but not nearly as much as watching Concetta kicking up her heels on the dance floor. That’s what the ladies had agreed to: being bait. He didn’t envy them that either.

He leaned back on the uncomfortable chair’s back, seated at a corner table with an excellent view of the dance floor. None of them knew what the demon looked like. His visions had been completely useless in that regard. Bentley endured a lot of snickering at his expense because visions were often so vague, some of which to be useless. As if it wasn’t hard enough to be plagued with visions, to be mocked for them was a salted wound.

All he could do was nurse his gin and watch the ladies dance. Concetta’s headdress, three metal bands making a crown joined by a lotus flower bearing discs that rested over either ear. A strand of pearls arched from both discs. It would have been at home in that book he’d read, _A Voyage to Arcturus_ set on a different planet. He could just imagine it there. 

Tapping his toes, Bentley scanned the room again, his gaze coming to rest on a young woman in a long yellow dress at least a decade out of style. It was old fashioned, prim even, out of place in the Zephyr. Milton would probably approve, such a prude. Bentley liked the flappers. Their boldness appealed to him. That said, something about the sadness in the woman’s dark eyes caught his attention. He should speak to her. Sometimes the monsters they hunted looked normal enough. A sad woman in a happy place might lure over some unsuspecting mark. He hadn’t brought his tablet. It would have looked out of place but he wasn’t sure his ruined voice could be easily heard over the music. It didn’t make introducing himself to a stranger easy.

He glanced up hearing the music change. Lillian went one way and Concetta sashayed over. She collapsed in the chair next to him, sweat trickling along her hair line. She fanned herself.

“That was fun. You have to dance with me at least once.” She met his gaze. “You _do_ dance, don’t you, Bentley.”

He nodded and rasped out, “You’re better at the fox trot than me. I can tango.”

Her dark eyes gleamed. “I’ll have to let Alma know we need a tango.”

Alma had taken the stage, singing in a bell clear voice. She demanded attention. Concetta picked up the drink he had waiting for her, drinking. 

He signed how wonderful he thought Alma sounded, hoping the singer could see him. She was the only one of the team that knew sign language yet. Concetta lifted an eyebrow.

“She’s good,” he said and then inclined his head to the girl in the yellow dress. “Should save my voice to talk to her. She looks said.”

Concetta peered around him and wrinkled her nose. “She looks see-through.”

He pouted, twisting on his seat. Ghosts rarely seemed transparent to him. Some days he felt more closely aligned to the dead, hearing them, and seeing them just as he would anyone else. “Really?”

“Doubt anyone even sees her but us. Go talk to her. I’ll take up the watch for the demon while I give my feet a rest.”

He flicked his gaze down to her high heels. He had no idea how women managed. Bentley nodded and went to the table. He put a hand on the chair and communicated with the girl in the yellow dress in the best way he knew how with ghosts. He merely had to think his questions and they heard him. At least that voice wasn’t a mangled mess. 

“May I have this seat?”

Her eyes widened as if shocked someone was speaking to her. He wasn’t surprised by that. It had probably been a while. She waved to the chair. “I’m waiting for my beau. He’s supposed to meet me here. He’s back from the war. He was hurt in the Battle of the Somme but he’s coming home to me.”

“That’s wonderful for you. I’m Bentley by the way. Will he mind if I sit here for a while….”

“Emily. My Matt isn’t a jealous man.”

“Nice to meet you, Emily and I’m glad to hear that. I can keep you company if you’d like.”

“Won’t your girl mind?” Emily nodded toward Concetta. 

“She might even come over. She tired herself out at the moment.” He smiled.

“She really can dance. I don’t think I could dance like that but Matt won’t mind.”

“I’m sure he’ll just be happy to see you.”

Bentley sat with her another five minutes until Alma finished her second song but he had no idea why Emily was still on this plane. Most of her answers revolved around Matt. She declined to join him at Concetta’s table.

“Do you know the history here?” he managed to get out. All the cigarette smoke in this place made his throat ache.

She shook her head. “I know someone who does. Be right back.”

Concetta ran off and came back with Alma. He signed his appreciation of her singing making her smile. Her dark skin set off her green dress which was emerald in the center rippling out to lime to palest green at the edges. 

“I can spare a few minutes, what can I do for you?” Alma asked.

“Bentley was talking to a ghost.” Concetta pointed to where Emily sat.

He signed her name and Matt’s and Alma’s eye sparked.

“Oh, so that’s who the girl in yellow is! I can’t see her. She’s a bit of a legend here,” she said brightly.

“Tell me.”

“She was here waiting for her fiancé to return from the war. This was a restaurant then. The irony is Matt made it back from the war only to be struck in the head by a startled horse. Killed him instantly. Emily threw herself in the river afterward.”

“How sad,” Concetta said. “Can you help her, Bentley?”

He nodded and signed to Alma.

“He says what about the mission? I’m thinking that it’s not going to amount to much. My uncle says he’s seen nothing violent or weird. Maybe whatever this thing is we’re chasing looks too human and we won’t recognize it until it strikes which is usually somewhere else,” Alma said.

“I’ve seen nothing either,” Concetta said and he nodded.

“Do you need my help not that I’m sure what I could do,” Alma said.

Bentley shook his head. 

“Okay you two handle Emily. I’ll let Milton and Lillian know you are doing that and I have to get back on stage. The New Year’s count down will be starting soon.”

“We’re on it,” Concetta said, standing.

Bentley pushed back from the table and gestured for her to come closer. He whispered in her ear, “I’ll be talking telepathically to her. Going to open a gateway through the front door, tell her the street lamps are very bright, he’s waiting in the light.”

“Got it. Do you think she can hear me too?”

Bentley shrugged. “Maybe. Worth trying.”

Concetta let him lead. Bentley walked back to Emily and put his hand on the back of her chair. “Emily, this is Concetta. She knows where Matt’s waiting. Want to come with us to meet Matt?”

Emily covered her mouth and jumped up, floating right through the table. Bentley held out a hand to Concetta who took it. “Thank you.” Emily said.

“The air feels lighter,” Concetta whispered to him, moving in close.

He nodded. “This way, Emily. Matt is just outside.”

“Why wouldn’t he come in?” Emily asked.

“Sometimes loud sounds upset soldiers,” Bentley offered, weaving through the new year’s crowd.

Concetta smiled at the doorman. “We’re coming right back in. That’s jake, right?”

He seemed to melt when she turned those big kohl lined eyes on him. Bentley opened the door for the women. He pointed across the street to the street lamp which looked dim to him but he knew to the spirit it would look brighter. “He’s just there, Emily.”

“I can’t see him.”

Bentley shot Concetta a look. She waved at the street lamp. “He’s right over there. He’s waving at us,” she said.

“Go on over to the light, Emily. Matt’s waiting,” Bentley added.

Emily hesitated for a moment but she jogged across the street and the feel of the air changed instantly.

“She’s gone isn’t she?” 

Bentley nodded and Concetta slipped an arm around him, steering him back inside. “Good, you did a good thing.”

He smiled and signed thanks.

“You’re welcome.” Concetta had at least learned that sign quickly. She glanced up at the clock. “Oh, we only have a few minutes before midnight. It’s not a tango but dance me into next year.” She smiled at him.

“Of course.”

Bentley let her pull him onto the dance floor, thankful it was a waltz. He wasn’t sure he could dance at Concetta’s level. Dancing meant people got close and he wasn’t good with that. She didn’t let him leave the dance floor once the music died and Alma’s uncle took the stage, leading them in the new year’s count down.

At midnight, Concetta kissed him to the cacophony of noise makers, just a quick little kiss. “A sweet beginning for a new year.” She beamed.

“Very sweet,” he whispered wanting to linger in this new closeness.

The band, however, denied that as they launched into a stomp. Concetta danced the black bottom with enthusiasm and skill. Bentley just tried to stay alive and not tripping anyone.

The team went home after two in the morning but there was no signs of their demon target. Bentley counted it a good night because Emily had been released. He was happy with that.


	4. Mistaken for a Vampire

Bentley crawled out the door into the snow away from his father. Fighting to get his legs under him, the boy started to run. The house at the end of the block. He had to make it there. A monster hunter lived there.

Blood streamed between his trembling fingers pressed against his neck as he stumbled down the snowy walk. He collapsed by her hedges, the snow cold against the burning pain in his throat.

“Die you little vampire,” his father screamed, brandishing his knife.

“Frank, stop!”

Alis did her job. She stopped the monster. Bentley knew she’d save him.


	5. Bright Young Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the all bingo prompt of bright young things

Concetta hiked up hill toward the Phipps Conservatory with Bentley in tow. She’d promised to show him the town and she had every intention of taking him to some of the best bits. The Oakland area where the Vers-Tiu had their headquarters not far from either the Carnegie Technical School or the University of Pittsburgh was some of the best they had to patrol. Bunches of Pittsburgh neighborhoods were crowded, way too much so for her tastes. Crowding made it too easy for the monsters to hide, and the steelmaking mills belched foul, dark smoke constantly. She had to admit she liked Boston a little better than her home town for that at least. The steel was important but the town could smell like the devil’s fart.

“Where are you taking me?” Bentley said, his voice a harsh whisper nearly snatched away by the wind. 

“I would have liked to take you to see Reverend Holland but I know he and his wife are out of town,” she replied and at his raised eyebrow added, “He was chancellor of the University of Pittsburgh and director of the Carnegie museum, which I love. He let me go behind the scenes to see the dinosaur bones before he retired.”

“Dinosaurs? Fascinating.”

“Absolutely the bees knees. I’m taking you to the Phipps Conservatory. I don’t know if you like flowers but it’s a lovely place. I thought we could talk there. There are places we can sit so you can write and not strain your throat.”

Tension drained out of his shoulders. She didn’t know Bentley well yet but she knew relief when she saw it. Would he teach her some sign language? She’d have to ask. Out in the field he couldn’t communicate well and Alma being the only one who could sign didn’t help. She wasn’t in the field. Heck, Alma practically had to be dynamited out of the library.

She turned around and pointed down the hill to where Oakland spread out before them. “I like it up here. It’s pretty. We haven’t taken you to the nasty parts of the city yet but we will. We do a lot of hunting there but demons and other things hide here where it’s pretty too.” 

He nodded.

“And we’ll have to go to Bloomfield. That’s where my grandmother settled, lots of Italians from the Abruzzi region just like us.”

“Been to Venice and Rome,” he said. “Beautiful.” 

“You’re luckier than me then. I haven’t ever been to Italy.”

“Easier for me.” He rubbed his throat. “Born in Bath, easier to cross the Channel to Europe.”

Concetta nodded, jealousy nibbling at her. She had never had the opportunity to cross the ocean. Bentley had hopped all over Britain, Europe, and parts of Canada according to his file. She wasn’t nearly as well traveled even though both of them had been in the Vers-Tiu most of their lives, having parents – or parental figures in his case - in the organization. It didn’t say how Bentley came to be in the care of Alis Davies but her reputation in the Vers-Tiu was one that inspired Concetta. She didn’t know him well enough yet to ask but hoped he’d volunteer the information.

She paused, realizing he no longer walked alongside her. He’d stopped to take in the glass domed entrance to the conservatory. “Impressive, isn’t it?” 

He nodded slowly, still drinking it in. 

“One of my favorite parts, the aquatic garden isn’t open yet because well, it’s December but you can still see Neptune through the glass enclosures.” Concetta beckoned him in. She paid the fee for them both. “My treat,” she assured him. “Did you see Neptune in the Trevi fountain? I’ve always wanted to see that.”

He nodded again and pulled his tablet out of his jacket now that they were out of the wind. It was beautiful. If you ever get the chance, do go. Do you speak Italian?

“I can. I’m pretty good at reading it too. It comes in handy in reading some of our texts but I don’t have to tell you that. You’re probably like Alma and can read a dozen languages.”

Bentley made a harsh sound, like a seal with a cold and it took her a moment to realize he was laughing. Not a dozen. I am fluent in five.

“Then Alma has you beat.” Concetta looped her arm through his. “Let’s go look at the desert. Bet you haven’t seen one of those. I didn’t see Egypt in your files.”

“Wanted to. Then came the war,” he said since she had his arm tied up. His expressive blue eyes darkened. 

Concetta frowned. She and Bentley would only have been ten when the Great War started. He had been sent with Alis to Canada or so said his files. It hadn’t seemed very real to her living where she had and being so young but she knew he had fled the violence. “Sorry. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this.”

She led him to the terrace where they could look out over the desert room. Bentley drank it in with curious eyes. Maybe one day they could go out west. Vers-Tiu members could get moved all around. Others were married to a certain city, like her family had been. Concetta had made it to Boston for a while at least. Seeing a cactus from the distance of the terrace was all well and good but she would love to actually be close to one. With her luck some monster would kick her right into the spines.

After standing there several minutes in companionable silence, Concetta beckoned for him to follow her and make room for others at the terrace’s rail. Nestled within one of the other flower rooms, all their botanical beauty showcased in pots on waist-high benches, she found a bench meant for sitting. She took full advantage of it.

“We can go whenever you’d like if you’re bored.”

Bentley shook his head and removed his hat. His forehead had beaded with sweat from the heat in the greenhouse. He wrote on his tablet. I like the flowers. Alis, the Vers-Tiu member who took care of me after my father no longer could, knew one of the peers of the realm. Lord Hobart was an avid horticulturalist, orchids. I’m quite sure he might have killed you or strike literal deal with a demon to get a rare orchid that only he had.

“I’ve heard of men who have actually done that, or worse, had their men destroy any of the other orchids found so no one else could have them. Craziness.” Concetta wrinkled her nose. “Can’t say that it’s my thing. I love coming here and looking and I have a vegetable garden but pouring all my money into a flower?” She gestured to the closest blooms. “I’d rather someone else do the work.”

He laughed again. Me too. What do you like to do?

Concetta beamed at the question. “I love to dance. Alma will tell you! Her uncle plays sax at the Zephyr, a jazz club.” She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “And speakeasy. I do like a drink. Hope you’re not one of those bluenose types.”

Drinks fine. Not sure I’m a great dancer but I’m willing to try.

“That’s why I looked so rough when I met you yesterday. A friend had a little vin Mariana tucked away. Coca wine is a rush, sure better than that foot juice you find nowadays.”

He inclined his head. You’re a bright young thing.

Concetta mulled that over, pulling together what she knew of those young Brits. “I’m too poor but I’d love to do the scavenger hunts they’re famous for.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Not that our job leaves us a lot of time for fun.”

He wrinkled his nose. True but others besides the aristocracy can be Bright Young Things, though most of those are trying to social climb I suppose.

“I have no time for that sort of thing. I’d just be in it for the fun and scavenger hunts.” Concetta laughed but sobered seeing Aubrey, one of the young runners employed by the Vers-Tiu, working his way through the plant displace to their side. The thirteen-year-old eyed them, panting hard. Even without speaking a word, Concetta knew it was bad news. The Ver-Sui wouldn’t have sent a runner if there was good news.

She jumped up and Bentley followed. “What’s happened, Aubrey?”

He pulled himself up to his full height, pulling his gloves off as the heat of the greenhouse soaked through his winter clothing. “Captain Leffingwell needs you back. We have vampires.”

“Really? I thought we had all of their kind handled,” Concetta grumbled watching the color drained out of Bentley’s face. He swayed slightly. “You jake, Bentley?”

He shook his head and scrawled with a shaking hand, Vampires are my nightmare.

There was definitely a story in that and she would get it out of him. Probably not today but she would have it. Let the man settle in before she started raking him over the coals if he didn’t simply volunteer the story. 

“A nightmare is a good name for vampires,” she agreed. “Let’s blouse. Leffingwell doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Aubrey darted out. They followed at a brisk pace. If something was bad enough for Leffingwell to summon them on a day off, then they had best get back to headquarters. Things were about to get bumpy.


	6. Making New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for the all bingo prompt of making a new friend

Chapter  
Bentley watched his father in his study, muttering to himself. He did that a lot lately. He would eye Bentley as if he’d done something wrong but the boy had no idea what it could be. He spent most of time with his tutor and missing his mother. He tried to be good. His father made it very clear that a young man of his standing had to deport himself a certain way. 

When he was older he’d get to attend his father’s club. Bentley wanted to so badly he tried to impress his father how ready he was. He’d proved how well he could tie his tie only to be told that’s what valets were for. Ten year olds simply couldn’t attend a gentleman’s club and please stop asking before his father had to cut a switch.

Bentley didn’t find that particularly fair. He didn’t deserve a switching for trying to please his father but ever since Mother had died, his father had gotten distant and short tempered. Bentley found himself longing to go back to boarding school. His father had stopped that several months ago, giving him to joyless tutors instead. Most of them quit quickly, more because of Father’s erratic behavior than anything Bentley had done, not that his father saw it that way. He was always blamed.

Bentley decided if being good wasn’t going to help his cause, then he’d do whatever made him happy. Sneaking out onto the back patio made him happy, at least at night. He loved looking at the moon. It was quiet here. Their yard in the city wasn’t very large but it was nice. The gated fence at the far side led to a small alleyway. At one end was Mrs. Rathbone who had a little girl the same age as him. Hetty was more interested in dolls and tea parties but sometimes she was nice to talk to. At the other end was Miss Alis Davies, a monster hunter.

Everyone knew the monsters were real, not numerous but real. Hetty’s mom wouldn’t even let her look out the window at night. Miss Davies worked with a group called the Vers-Tiu who fought them. He could listen to her stories all day but his father hated for him to bother her. He thought Miss Davies gave him bad ideas, as if Bentley was going to be a monster hunter. It certainly sounded more interesting than his father’s job, not that Bentley knew much about that other than it was _very important_ and Bentley distracted him too often.

“Bentley,” his father snapped, his voice so odd it made Bentley whip around. In the pale light spilling out from the back door, his father’s face was pale but his eyes were dark holes. Hard and sunken, they drew his attention. “When did the vampires get you?”

Bentley took an involuntary step back at the snap in his father’s tone. “Vampires? Father, vampires have never gotten me. I’ve never seen one. I’d have been so scared!”

“Oh, but they did. You’re dead, son.” Tears spilled down his father’s cheeks. “You’re dead, like my beautiful Grace.”

Fear tickled up Bentley’s back. He wasn’t like his mother. What was wrong with Father? Why would he think vampires had turned him? “Father, what’s wrong? Has Miss Davies been telling you stories?”

“You are a monster. My precious son is one of the monsters.”

Before Bentley could move his father grabbed him and draw a knife across his throat. His scream died as blood bubbled into his mouth. There was less pain than he imagined there’d be. It hurt more when his father slammed him to the grass. 

“A cross for a monster, a cross to banish the fiend,” his father chanted, jamming the tip of the knife under Bentley’s chin. He started to slice down to make the cross in Bentley’s skin. He slammed his knee up, catching his father someplace sensitive. His father howled, rocking back, dropping the knife.

Bentley scrambled to his feet, clutching at his throat. Blood streamed through his fingers as he scampered through the yard to the back door. He one handedly fought the gate latch open and stumbled into the alley. Miss Davies was just at the end of the road. He tried to scream for her but the only thing that happened were blood bubbles forcing their way between his fingers over his wound.

Add in the other bit.

Alis cradled him in her arms. Above him, stars danced. “Adam, I need you! Bring dressings!”

Bentley didn’t see who Adam was. He lost the night sky. All descended into darkness.

XXX

Pain filled every space inside of Bentley as his eyes fluttered open. An intense antiseptic odor burned his nose as his brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He couldn’t place the pale green and white walls or the hard bed he was resting on. He raised an arm to try to feel why his throat hurt but he couldn’t move it well. A pinchy tube ran into his elbow. He traced the red tube up to a glass bottle inverted next to the head of his bed. 

What was going on? Things flitted back to him. He’d been a bad boy. He’d sneaked out of the house. Then Father was there. He had a knife. He was killing a vampire…killing _him_! Bentley tried to cry out, fear wracking him but all he made was the faintest of moans intensifying his pain into something almost crystalline and sharp.

“Sshh, Bentley, sweetie, just rest easy. You’re going to be okay.” Miss Davies materialized at his side. Where had the monster-hunter been? “You’ve been badly hurt but you’re going to be okay.”

His father had cut his throat, thinking he was killing a vampire. It was never going to be okay. He fluttered his hand reaching for Miss Davies. She caught his hand in hers. Warm, so warm and he was so very cold. Her eyes misted.

“You poor thing, you’re like ice. I will be right back, I promise you. You’re safe now but I want to get you another blanket.”

He clutched her fingers but Miss Davies slipped free regardless. Bentley moaned softly, fear washing over him. He fought to look around the room but he could barely move his head and most of what was in his vision was the ceiling and the far wall as his hospital bed was cranked up. He rested his hand on the upright rail of his bed, trying to pry himself off the bed. What if his father was here? He could have followed Bentley to the hospital. He wasn’t safe. He couldn’t move.

Miss Davies bustled back in carrying a blanket. “Here you go, love. They have a steam room they keep these in so it’s very warm.” She tucked it around him, avoiding his neck. She made a U around his neck so she could put the hot blanket against his cheeks. “The doctor is coming to see you and I’m going to stay with you. You’re in a Vers-Tiu hospital. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to deal with so much trauma. We’re used to it here.” 

He quested under the cover, trying to get his hand free. Miss Davies tugged a chair over and sat next to him. She put her hand over his, squeezing him through the blanket. 

“Your father can’t hurt you anymore. He’s very sick. He’s been taken to an asylum,” she said and in that moment, Bentley remembered her fighting his father, putting him down. He remembered nothing after that.

He tried to scream at the memory of his father and the knife. Pain erupted in his throat, carrying over even as the dream-memory eroded away. Screaming in his sleep tortured his voice box. It had never been the same since his father sliced the cross into his neck. The ruins of his voice embarrassed him, pricked his anger, humiliated him.

Bentley rolled out of bed. Tea with honey would help the pain but it was almost one in the morning. _It’s not like you’ll sleep now_. He needed a walk to clear his head. Bentley dressed in a thick sweater and slacks before going out into the apartment complex. He didn’t know the city well enough to go outside for a walk and it was cold. Pittsburgh reminded him of Manchester a bit with the steel and the stink. It might just be better to walk the apartment complex’s halls.

On his second time around the second floor, he nearly collided with Concetta and a young man giggling their way up the steps. Concetta wore a black coat with silver beads trimming the collar and sleeves. She had it opened enough so he could see the ivory silk blouse she wore. He didn’t know the tall redheaded man. They looked cozy. He was intruding.

Concetta widened her eyes seeing him. She pushed away from the man gently, reaching out for Bentley. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, though I suppose you already do that and it probably doesn’t bother you.”

He offered her a wan smile and shook his head.

“Don, this is Bentley, he’s new here.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you,” Don said, not sounding as if he believed that. He slipped a hand around Concetta’s waist pulling her close. “Probably not the best time for exchanging pleasantries.”

“You look like you need to talk,” Concetta said, ignoring Don. 

Bentley wanted to say yes but Don’s narrowed eyes changed his mind. He shook his head again.

“See, he wants left alone. Let’s go,” Don tugged on her waist again.

Scowling, Concetta whipped up a hand. “The bank’s closed, bub. You might want to turn in. See you at role call tomorrow.”

Don’s jaw sagged. He snapped his mouth shut, his face going red. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

Don stomped off. Bentley reached into his pocket but realized he hadn’t brought his tablet, not expecting anyone this late at night. “You didn’t have to…” he rasped.

Concetta put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I was about to tell Don to blow anyhow. I was playing along until we got home. Never a good idea to give a guy the brush off when you’re alone on a city street.”

Not knowing what to say to that, he nodded since it seemed like wise advice. 

“What has you ankling around the halls? You really do look spooked.”

“Bad dreams,” he whispered, rubbing his throat through the thick turtleneck of his sweater. “Throat hurts too much to sleep and I forgot my tablet.”

“Come on. I have just the thing for a sore throat.” She held out her hand.

Her fingers sat cold in his hand. It must have been icy outside but she was out there in heels and stockings. Winters had to be hard on women. Concetta tugged him along and led him right to her apartment. She had the door opened quickly and before he knew it, he was across the threshold. It wasn’t proper to be there this late at night with a woman he barely knew but he knew this wasn’t anything sexual. She wanted to help a teammate. Don on the other hand expected to be the gentleman through the door and that was a different thing entirely.

“Have a seat. I’ll whip it up for you.”

Bentley studied her couch. The ivory velvet upholstery was patterned with art that suggested black ‘skyscrapers’ under a dome. It was like nothing he’d ever seen.

“My Nonna would have given you some Vin Brulé,” she said going into the kitchen.

“What?” he said as loudly as he dared.

“Sort of like mulled wine but you can’t get wine here that’s not awful and half likely to make you blind,” Concetta lamented over the sounds of her cutting something up. “So, I’ll give you her other recipe. Not nearly as tasty.”

He honestly didn’t find mulled wine all that tasty. Hot wine was not his favorite thing but it might help his throat. Concetta came back with a juice cup with something red in it. She beckoned to him. 

“Bathroom’s this way. You’ll want to gargle this.”

Sniffing it tentatively, Bentley followed her. Did he smell vinegar? She left him in the room alone, giving him privacy. He swigged some of it into his throat to gargle. His eyes watered and sinuses opened. Vinegar and pure raw garlic. Did she give him a vampire-killing potion from the Old Country? 

Bentley nearly choked as he fought to gargle the nasty concoction and spat it into the sink. He eyed the remains of the glass viciously. Concetta could have warned him or was she killing him for crashing her date. No, she didn’t seem that happy with Don. He was an escape for her.

Bentley gargled less of the remedy the second and third time. His throat burned and throbbed briefly but at the end it felt marginally better. He washed out the glass before walking back to the kitchen. His gaze snagged on her abandoned heels by the couch and her silk stockings folded on the end table. 

Concetta waited for him in the kitchen with a spoon in hand. “I know that was awful but I have a sweet treat to coat your throat.” She grabbed a honey jar off the counter and dipped up a spoonful. She held it out with her other hand under it to catch any run off.

Did she want him to just take it off the spoon? He looked into her eyes, searching for a clue. He hadn’t noticed just how pretty her eyes were, hazel with swirls of gold and green and warm browns ringed with a circle of black. He took the spoon from her, too shy to just suck the honey off the utensil while she held it. It oozed down his throat, quieting it. He shut his eyes, nodding.

“Sorry about the vinegar. It works though.” She patted his arm and marched toward the living room.

“The garlic…” he said, following her after putting the spoon in the sink and she swept a hand to the coffee table. She’d provided him a tablet.

“I’m Italian. Garlic cures all. That’s engrained in me.” Concetta laughed and flopped on the couch. He tried not to notice her bare feet and legs. She patted the couch next to her. “Sit down and relax, Bentley.”

He did even though he knew he should leave. 

“Do you want to tell me about what upset you so much? I’m a good listener.”

He picked up his tablet. _I have bad dreams. I’m sure a lot of us do. I don’t really want to talk about it though._

“Of course. I understand. But if you ever do, you know where I live now.” She smiled. “I figured it might have to do with what happened to your voice.” Concetta raised her hand. He didn’t realize she meant to tap her throat until after he recoiled, covering his own voice box. She widened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head, his face heating up. He picked up the pencil. _So sorry. I didn’t mean to do that._

“You’re sensitive about it. That’s jake, Bentley. You have to know that right? There’s probably not one of us who doesn’t have some sort of scar on them from this job.” She held up her hands. “But not everyone wants them to be public and that’s fine.”

He looked away. He couldn’t face her openness, not with all his own pain so locked up tight. Finally, he nodded.

“So, you can just stay here with me until you feel ready to go back home. I’m a night owl so I don’t mind,” Concetta said as if he hadn’t withdrawn into himself. “You’ll need to teach me how to do sign language.”

Surprised, he brought his head up sharply. He gave her a curious look.

“You can’t write me notes across a battle field but you can sign to me. I should learn how to talk your language.”

Relief washed over him. “Thank you,” he said because she deserved to hear his gratitude. _No one has offered before other than Alis_!

“Well, people are foolish though you’ve been mostly library bound like Alma, right?”

_I’ve been fight-trained. Alis wouldn’t have it any other way. But yes, I’ve been more on the research side of it but with my powers growing, they wanted to use me more_.

“We’ll have to set up a time for you and Alma to teach the rest of us.”

He nodded. _Thank you. I should go now. We’re both tired._

“Sure. Good night, Bentley.”

Concetta walked him to the door. He wished her a good night and walked around the hallway to the opposite side of the apartment complex where his place was. Bentley changed back into his pajamas and slipped into bed between the flannel sheets, a gift from Alis. His team would learn to talk to him? Could he hope for anything more?


End file.
